


The End Of The Path

by faerymorstan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bees, Gen, M/M, POV John Watson, Poetry, Rain, Retirementlock, Sestina, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:46:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerymorstan/pseuds/faerymorstan





	The End Of The Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/gifts).



Spring again. The rain

falls and falls; clouds pass

like regiments that battle light.

The storms won’t end.

I sleep. I drink. I write.

Trapped, you grow

 

restless, pace the cottage halls, grow

anxious for your bees: the rain

keeps them in their hives. You write,

_Will these damned storms never pass,_

laugh when Molly writes back, _They’ll end_

_and you’ll complain about the light._

 

You hesitate. Your hand lies light

on mine. I marvel that we grow

together still, here at the end,

as what we’ve planted blooms and rain

makes lush the leaves you pass

beneath to tend the hives. I write,

 

_You’re the only story I care to write_

and you roll your eyes and kill the bedroom light

as though when I say, _If I should pass_

 _before you_ \--or try--you don’t grow

terse, or cold, or wry. The rain

rattles the roof as though the end

 

of the world is nigh. You mutter, _The end_

 _of our roof, more like._ I laugh. I write

that you are relentless as the rain

and that, if I conduct, you are the light

without which nothing here would grow.

I keep the image to myself; to hear you pass

 

(again) your harshest judgements on my poems? I’ll pass.

Well. No couple’s perfect. Domestics end.

After the storm, the plants will grow,

the beekeeper keep, the Boswell write;

for now, we wait. I check the light

above the garden path: I know the rain

 

will fall, your impatience grow, and tonight, you’ll pass

by the rain-drenched blossoms at the end of the path.

You’ll feed your bees. I’ll write, _You are the best and wisest light._


End file.
